Numb
by spacemonkey69
Summary: The pain, the terror, the touch, the smell. It still lingered... please read and review! A Chandler story...dark and disturbing...COMPLETE
1. Prologue

Okay, I know I am _so _going to regret this, but I am now writing two stories at once...i couldnt help it, I had to start this before it went woosh outta my head! But I promise that I will not neglect either of my stories...I have to finish them!

Okay, this chapter is so, so, so incredibly short but I didnt want to rush into it, so I hope ya'all will understand that! The next chapters will be so much longer!

Oh, and I must warn you...this fic will probably end up being quite disturbing (arent all of mine?) Just a warning! Please read and review!

I dont own friends/characters/actors but I do own the chick and the duck...not really

* * *

The smell lingered.

It stuck with him, and he knew that it always would.

No matter how many times he showered, no matter how much he scrubbed, he knew.

The smell would linger.

He would always be able to smell them on him.

The touch.

Brutal, unloving, painful.

The fingers on his skin,

He could still feel them, even though they had left.

The pain.

The terror.

The touch.

The smell.

Chandler blinked, shaking his head slightly.

He felt numb.

He was numb. His body was awake, but his mind was sleeping. He didn't comprehend. He knew what had happened, but he couldn't realise it. Couldn't process it.

He felt the pain, but it was like an afterthought.

He was numb.

He had to get home; get out of the alleyway. Get out of the puddle he knew he was sitting in.

It hadn't rained, and the puddle was warm, but he couldn't comprehend.

He was numb.

Chandler stood, the pain hinting through his numb exterior; shooting through his body like an electric bolt. And then it was gone and he was staring down at the puddle.

Red.

Blood.

Chandler buckled his belt, his hands on autopilot, then wrapped his overcoat around him, pulling it close.

He was numb.

Chandler turned away from the puddle and began his journey home; feet being placed in front of one another, walking automatically, but never being told.

He couldn't tell them, they already knew what to do. He was glad for that; he couldn't tell them.

One foot in front of the other. They knew it, to his feet it was like clockwork. It was simple, but he didn't realise that at that moment.

He was numb.


	2. Chapter 1

Whew! Quick update! I am on fire tonight! First I updated Last Night On Earth, and now this! I think that deserves a 'AWOOHOO!' for me...not that i should be happy about either of them...both of them are dark and depressing...but oh well!

To Leondra...i didnt really give hardly anybody enough time to read the first chap...hell it hasnt even been posted on the main page yet! But I still got one review! Darling...I have no idea whether the ending will be happy or not, I dont even know where I am going with this! But I will aspire to make it as happy as possible...to make everyone feel better hehe. I'm sorry if this story has disturbed anyone, it is a very touchy subject and I am dealing with it as carefully as possible...but please stick with me! I'm pretty sure it will get more descriptive...but try to stick with me! Please read and review!

I do not own Friends/Actors/ Characters, but I would love to comfort Chandler after a major whumping!

* * *

The pain lingered.

But still, it was an afterthought. He felt it, but not as much as he knew he should have. It still couldn't break through his exterior completely.

He was still numb.

Chandler stared at the door to Apartment 19, not sure if he wanted to go in there.

There would be questions. Worries. Fears. There would be concern and there would be Joey. He wasn't sure if he was ready to face that yet, but it didn't matter. It wouldn't bother him as much as it should have.

He was numb.

He wouldn't feel their pain, just like he could barely feel his. He would know it was there, just like he knew his was. But it wouldn't matter. Not at this point in time. Maybe later, but not now.

He was numb.

Chandler opened the door the Apartment 19 and walked in, his feet still on autopilot. One foot in front of the other.

"Hey Chandl-" Rachel's mouth fell open, effectively cutting herself off. "Oh my god sweetie, what happened?"

Chandler stared blankly at her for a moment.

"Where's Joey?" he asked dully, avoiding her question.

"On a date…I was just watching your TV," Rachel answered softly, standing. "What happened Chandler?" She walked up to him and Chandler flinched slightly. The close proximity. Even though he was numb, it still bothered him. Even though it was Rachel, it still scared him. "Chandler?"

"I-I…I was mugged," Chandler answered finally. The lie came out so easily, and he hadn't even thought of it. His brain was still asleep, still numb. He was working on autopilot.

"Oh my god! Are you okay?" Rachel exclaimed, a look of shock and worry twisting her features. She reached up to touch his bleeding head and Chandler flinched once more.

Touch.

He didn't like the thought of it. Even though he was numb, it still bothered him. Even though it was Rachel, it still scared him.

"Chandler?" Rachel whispered, her worried look changing into a look of fear.

"I'm okay," he answered a moment later, still on autopilot. "Just got…knocked around a bit."

"I can see that," Rachel murmured, taking his hand. Chandler flinched yet again, an action that didn't go unnoticed. "It's okay…I just want to look at your head."

"It's fine Rach…" Chandler trailed off as Rachel dragged him over to the barcalounger she had been sitting in. She sat him down, not seeing the wince that he emitted when he sat.

The pain intensified, and Chandler felt it breaking through his barriers slightly. Still not enough to affect him too much. Still not enough to get past his numbness.

"Just wait here," Rachel instructed. Chandler nodded, watching blankly as she quickly made her way into the bathroom. He wanted to go in there too. He wanted a shower. He _needed _a shower.

The smell lingered.

He could still smell them on him, feel them on his skin.

He wanted them off of him, but he still couldn't process.

"Okay," Rachel said as brightly as possible, walking out of the bathroom with a damp cloth. She leaned over Chandler and he flinched once more. Rachel saw his movement and misinterpreted it. "It's okay Chandler. This is going to hurt, but we have to do this."

"I know," Chandler said tediously, cringing at her touch. He didn't want her hands on him. He didn't want anyone's hands on him. Never again. But he couldn't tell Rachel that. He was still numb.

"There, it doesn't look so bad," Rachel said softly as she wiped at the wound on his head. "Just a small cut…the blood made it look worse then it is." She smiled reassuringly down at him, and Chandler attempted a smile back. He didn't get very far. "Now, about those bruises…"

"They're fine," Chandler interrupted as she went to touch him once more.

"Okay…any other injuries?" Rachel inquired, studying him critically. "There seems to be a lot of blood."

"I-I'm okay…just tired…going to bed," Chandler muttered, attempting to stand up. Rachel grabbed his arms, trying to stop him. He shied away from her touch, falling back against the chair.

"Chandler-"

"I'm okay," he repeated, glancing away from her worried gaze. "Just…a bit edgy…I just need to sleep."

"I think I'll take you to the hospital," Rachel said after a pause. Chandler shook his head. He couldn't go there. They would know. They would check. They would know. He didn't want anyone to know. _He_ didn't even want to know. And he didn't at that moment. He was still numb.

"Honey, you're hurt and I think you're in shock!" Rachel exclaimed. Chandler shook his head once more.

"It's…I'm okay…I just need to sleep. It isn't as bad as it looks," he insisted. There was a long pause as Rachel stared at him, chewing her lip thoughtfully.

"Are you sure? You aren't just doing the guy thing where you claim you are okay…and then you collapse?" she asked him. Chandler shook his head again.

"I'm okay…just tired," he whispered. Another pause.

"Okay…but if you are bad in the morning, you're going in…you got me?" she asked sternly, her voice leaving no room for discussion. Chandler nodded, his face blank once more. "Okay…I'm going to go call the cops."

"Cops! Why?" Chandler exclaimed, emotion breaking through his numbness. Rachel stared at him in surprise.

"Chandler, you were just mugged!" she reminded him. "We have to report this!"

"People get mugged all the time," Chandler countered, his voice still on autopilot. "It's nothing…we aren't reporting it."

"Chandler-"

"No…its fine Rachel," Chandler snapped, rising to his feet. "I didn't…I didn't have much on me…I can cancel my credit cards…and now they have my gym card, which is a good thing." He let out a hollow laugh, which Rachel didn't join in.

"Are you sure?" she whispered. Chandler nodded.

"They have worse things to worry about. Murders…and r-rapes...they don't have time to worry about muggings."

"Okay, you win," Rachel sighed. "But remember what I said about the hospital…you want me to call Joey?"

"No!" Chandler yelled, causing Rachel to shrink back. He lowered his voice. "No…Don't interrupt his date."

"Okay," Rachel murmured. Chandler stared at her for a second.

"I'm going to bed," he told her. Rachel nodded. "Make sure…make sure the door is locked when you leave."

"I will," she whispered, the look of concern never once leaving her face.

"Thankyou," Chandler walked over to his bedroom, hoping that Rachel didn't notice the pain that was laced through his movements; his steps. Not that it mattered if she did. He could lie. It didn't matter if he lied. It didn't bother him.

He was numb.

He closed the door behind him, leaning against the hard wood for a moment.

He needed a shower; so badly, so much.

But he couldn't go out there again. There would be more questions, more worries, more insistence of him getting help. He didn't need help. He was in pain, but he didn't need help. The pain was still an afterthought, bursting through his numb exterior on occasions that suited it best. He didn't need help for something that he didn't even comprehend had happened.

Chandler gingerly walked over to the bed, sitting down carefully. He stared at his hands for a long while, watching as they slowly began to shake.

The pain.

The terror.

The touch.

The smell.

It stayed with him, hitting him at moments when he wasn't prepared. He may have been numb, but that was beginning to fade. The nothingness that had possessed him was slowly departing, leaving him with memories and pain.

He could still feel the fingers on his skin, touching him with brutal hands. He could hear the voices in his ears, taunting him, laughing at him, enjoying him.

He could still feel them inside of him; tearing him, hurting him, degrading him, ruining him.

They had violated him, broken him, shattered him. They had made him feel pain like he had never thought was possible. They had made him feel lower then anything. They had pained him, hurt him, killed him. Not physically, but emotionally.

A wet spot appeared on his shaking hand and Chandler stared at it in confusion. He raised his hand to his face, surprised to find he was crying. He had thought he was numb; numb people didn't cry.

But he was crying. His numbness had dissipated, and left him with nothing but pain and memories. He lay down.

The touch.

The smell.

Them inside him.

Them violating him.

Them ruining him.

Chandler pulled his legs up to his chest, making himself into the tiniest ball possible. He wasn't numb anymore. He felt everything. Every twinge of pain, every humiliating memory, every terrified sob and scream he had emitted.

_I've been waiting all night for this_

Chandler squeezed his eyes shut as he recalled the voice, sickly sweet in his ear.

_We have all been waiting for this_

A sob escaped his lips and Chandler pulled his legs closer still, ignoring the pain, ignoring the blood that still ran down his thigh.

_Beautiful eyes…that's what we look for in a man_

Chandler whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut tighter still. He hadn't had a chance. Four of them against him. He hadn't had a chance.

_Well…not all we look for in a man…there are other things too_

He wished he was still numb; he didn't want to feel it, didn't want to remember it.

_You look like a good fuck…if you're lucky, maybe afterwards we will let you live_

In a way, Chandler wished they hadn't. He wished they hadn't left him lying there in his own blood, violated, shaking, broken. If they had have let him die, then he wouldn't have felt this way. There had been another choice though.

_Maybe we might even take you with us…we could use the entertainment_

Whispers, so soft and sickly sweet, the subject contradicting the tone. The whisper had been the one that lovers used on one another, but Chandler hadn't felt loved. He had felt dirty, disgusting, broken.

_We can't wait to hear you scream_

Chandler's body trembled like a leaf, and tears streamed down his face. He wanted to sob, but he was unable to. His voice, his breath was hitching painfully in his throat, adding to the pain that his entire body felt. He trembled with pain, with memories, with the smell, with fear.

_We might just come after you later…to finish the job_

Chandler jumped up suddenly, ignoring the pain that jolted through his body at the sudden movement. He stared at the door in horror, backing away from it. They could come back. They might not have finished with him. They could come back.

Chandler stared at the closed door, wishing that there was a lock on it. He had to stop them from coming for him; he had to protect himself from their touch, their smell, their pain.

He couldn't let them near him; he wasn't safe anywhere. But he couldn't leave this room…not while they might still be looking for him. Not that night. Not when he was alone in the apartment. Not when he was so dirty, so pained, so terrified. Not when he wasn't numb anymore. He had to wait for that numbness to return, for it to protect him once more.

Chandler considered calling out to Rachel, begging her for help, but he stopped himself. They couldn't know. They weren't allowed to. It wasn't their concern. This had happened to him, not them. He had to deal with it on his own, not drag them into it. They couldn't know.

Instead, Chandler grabbed a chair and sat it under the doorknob. He had learned that trick when he was a child, trying to keep his feuding parents out of his bedroom; trying to keep them from involving him in their petty revenge games.

It worked well, not as well as a lock, not as well as a wooden board and nails, but it still worked well. Probably not well enough to keep large, dangerous men out of him bedroom; keep their brutal touch, their sickly sweet threats, their smell away. It wasn't enough to keep them from touching him again, from violating him once more, from degrading him, from ruining him.

Chandler backed into the corner behind the bed, then realised that he wouldn't be able to see the door from there. He had to see the door. He had to be prepared.

Chandler stood on shaky legs, pain coursing through his body. He sat down on the bed once more, pressing his back up against the wall. He picked up his pillow, hugging it pitifully as the tears came once more.

He wasn't safe, but he could see the door now. He could know when they came for him. He could be prepared. Chandler sobbed into the pillow, his body shaking dangerously.

He needed a shower. He could smell them. He could feel them on him.

He needed a shower.

But he couldn't have one, not till the morning.

If he was still here in the morning.

Till then, he had to sit, had to wait, had to cry, had to remember. It would have been so much easier if he was still numb. But that feeling had gone, and all he had were his memories.

The pain.

The terror.

The touch.

The smell.

The blood trickling down his thigh, a reminder of what had happened. He was dirty. He needed to be clean. But not till the morning.

Till then he was stuck with the smell. Not that the shower would get rid of it.

Till then he was stuck with the memories, the pain, the fear.

He wished he was numb.


	3. Chapter 2

Hey ya'all! I have to say thankyou for all the reviews. I knew that this wasnt the sort of story where people would be reviewing much, so it was nice to recieve a few! And yeah, Lauren..I do love tourturing Chan...I dont know why! Why do I always put my fave characters through hell?...eh, it doesnt matter! And Leondra...I'm glad you think I do taboo subjects well...I'm always scared that I will offend someone in the wrong way! I dont mind offending them in the right way, in the fun way, but not when they have been through a similar experience, or know someone who has. So, I'm glad to hear that you think I'm doing well! I hope I am!

Thankyou all for reading, and I will try to have the next chap up asap! Cheers! Please read and review!

I do not own friends/characters/actors...but I love men with muscles...and I hear that Matt Perry is bulking up...YUM-MY!

* * *

The blood lingered.

Dried, not trickling anymore. But it still lingered.

Morning had come, and Chandler was still there. Chandler was able to shower now. Chandler was able to wash away their filth, their touch, their smell.

He was able to attempt to get rid of them, knowing that he had no chance.

The smell lingered.

It would always linger, no matter how much he scrubbed.

It was like a cancer, slowly but surely eating him up inside. Hurting him, paining him, killing him.

Chandler stared at the door still; he hadn't taken his eyes off of it once that night, with the exception of blinking. He had been afraid that if he looked away, the worst would happen. If he looked away, he wouldn't have been able to look anymore.

If he looked away, he would be taken away.

_We might just come after you later…to finish the job_

The chair still sat there, protecting him from any would be attackers. Protecting him from the evil that he knew lurked beyond that door.

The terror lingered.

He was terrified to go out there; terrified to face the world that he had only recently loved. Terrified to see his friends. Terrified to shower, to see his body, broken and used. Terrified to see the blood running off of him.

He wanted it off of him, but he was scared to see it. If he saw it, it was real. He knew what had happened, but a small part of him – the part that was still numb – longed for it to not be. Longed for the truth to be much nicer; for it all to have been a dream.

But that was impossible. To dream, you had to sleep. And Chandler hadn't slept.

Chandler would never sleep. Not when he was sure he was in danger. Not when he knew that every time he closed his eyes, he would see _them._ Know that every time he closed his eyes, he would feel them.

Feel their touch.

Their smell.

Them inside him.

Them violating him.

Them ruining him.

Chandler would have cried, but he had finished his tears hours before. He had cried all he could at that moment, and his tears had dried up. He knew that they would come later, but for now, they were gone.

Movement.

In the other room. Beyond the closed door. Beyond his haven. Beyond his walls.

Chandler shifted nervously, never once taking his eyes off the door.

"Chandler?"

The voice, so familiar, so wonderful, so caring. He knew that voice, he adored that voice. That voice was his best friend. He adored his best friend.

Not anymore.

Not after last night.

He couldn't face him. Couldn't face the voice. Couldn't face the music. He couldn't face Joey.

His friend was a different person to him now. His friend wasn't familiar, wasn't wonderful, wasn't caring.

His friend was dangerous. His friend was terrifying. His friend was hurtful. His friend was male. His friend wasn't Joey.

Not anymore.

Joey was a threat. Joey was pain. Joey was suffering. Joey was everything he had never been.

All because of the night before.

Chandler couldn't trust his friend anymore. Chandler couldn't trust any male. Chandler couldn't trust anybody.

Chandler wasn't even sure if he could trust himself.

He had been numb, and he had enjoyed that. He had wished for that for longer. But the numbness had been rudely taken from him, and left him with the pain, the smell, the touch, the memories. Things he didn't want, but had anyway. That was why he couldn't even trust himself.

"Chandler? You in there?"

"Y-Yeah," Chandler answered after a beat, knowing that if he didn't, Joey would come in. Joey would attempt to come in, anyway. Joey would become concerned when he couldn't get in. Joey would worry. Joey would panic. Joey would want to see him; to comfort him, to touch him.

Chandler didn't want that. He didn't want Joey anywhere near him. So he answered.

"I-I talked to Rachel."

Chandler remained silent. He wasn't sure what to say.

"Are you okay man?"

Chandler remained silent still. He wasn't okay, far from it. Furthest from it. Light years from it. But Joey couldn't know. If he did, Joey would come in. Joey would become concerned, worried, panicked. Joey would want to see him, comfort him, touch him.

"Chandler?"

"I'm okay," Chandler called, pulling the pillow tighter to his body.

"You sure? It sounded a bit rough…I'm coming in."

"No!" Chandler yelled, involuntarily moving away from the door. "No, I'm fine Joey…really! Don't you have…an audition?"

"Yeah, but I can miss it…you're more important than any audition Chandler."

Joey's voice was soft and sweet; sickly sweet. Chandler trembled.

_I've been waiting all night for this_

"G-Go…go to your audition…I'm fine," he insisted, squeezing his eyes shut at the memory.

"You sure?"

"Yes! Go! Get the part!"

"Okay, you win…I'll be straight back though…I wanna make sure you are okay."

"Okay," Chandler agreed, although there was no chance in hell of him letting Joey near. Not willingly. He would have to soon though, otherwise the others might realise. Might suspect. Might know. He would have to let them near him. Soon. Not now. Soon.

"Okay buddy."

Chandler listened to the footsteps, moving away from his closed door. Another door opened and closed, and Chandler breathed a sigh of relief. Joey was gone. Chandler was less threatened now. Chandler could have his shower now.

Chandler could get rid of the blood, the smell, the touch.

Well, he could try.

It would prove to be unsuccessful, but he could try.

* * *

The blood ran down the drain, eerily beautiful to Chandler. It was his blood, it was his pain, it was his memory. The blood meant nothing but bad things. But still, it was beautiful to watch. Like a painting; a Monet, a Van Gough. The entire area in the shower was a Picasso.

The blood mixed with the water, streaming down the drain gracefully. Chandler was mesmerized by it. He had to be, otherwise he would see. He would notice all the other things wrong with the painting. He would see the bruises, the cuts, the scrapes. He would see the pain, the memory, the hell. He couldn't see that. He was going to, but he couldn't.

Not yet.

So, instead, he stayed mesmerized by the blood; the beautiful swirling blood. If he pretended he didn't know the origin, it was beautiful. If he forgot, for one second, that the crimson liquid had leaked from his wounds, he could be entertained. Be enthralled. Be mesmerized.

For one second.

He had been pretending for a while now; possibly half an hour. Maybe more, maybe less. It was ironic really. Chandler had always been on Joey's back about using the hot water, and now Chandler was the one wasting it all.

Not wasting.

He needed it.

He had to be clean.

He had to be rid of the smell.

He had to forget.

He had to pretend.

Chandler watched the blood for a moment longer. He wished that he could watch it for longer, but Joey would be home soon. And he was running out of blood.

It was odd really. He had been in the shower for so long, and yet there was still blood. It didn't seem physically possible, although the blood had disappeared for a while.

It was possible that he hadn't been in the shower for as long as he thought. It was possible that he had only been in there for moments. That his mind was lying to him.

Or it was possible that the blood streaming down was new.

Chandler turned away from the swirling blood; from the beautiful Monet painting and stared at his arms. Where there had been simple scrapes minutes before, there were now harsh wounds. Chandler had been scrubbing too hard.

The blood had been new. His old blood; the tainted, dirty blood from the night before, was gone. It had washed away, a Monet, a Van Gough, a Picasso. It had disappeared long before, and Chandler had created new wounds. Chandler was _still _creating new wounds.

Chandler pulled his hand away, wincing as the pain hit him suddenly. He had torn at his skin; torn in different places all over his body. The scrapes, the scratches, the cuts. They had only been simple minutes ago, but now they were angry, harsh and bleeding.

Perhaps that was a good thing. He had been able to watch his beautiful spiralling painting for longer then he should have, which had taken his mind off of-

_Beautiful eyes…that's what we look for in a man_

Chandler squeezed his eyes - his apparent beautiful eyes – tightly closed, wishing he could forget. Wishing that he hadn't been walking last night. Wishing that he had inherited his father's eyes, not his mothers.

They had been looking for beautiful eyes; they loved that in a man. If Chandler hadn't had his mother's eyes, maybe they would have kept walking. Maybe Chandler could have come home, unscathed, unviolated, undamaged. Maybe Chandler could have walked in, unafraid of the world. Maybe Chandler could have sat down with Rachel, had a few beers and watched a movie. Maybe Chandler could have gotten up early that morning, helped Joey with his lines. Maybe Chandler wouldn't have been terrified of his best friend.

Maybe Chandler wouldn't have been forced to watch his own blood stream down the drain, and pretend to himself that it was beautiful. Pretend that it was art. Pretend that it was a Monet.

But Chandler had inherited his mother's eyes.

So his attackers hadn't walked past. They had stopped, they had battered, they had violated. Everything that Chandler could have had that day had been taken away from him.

So he was pretending.

The blood was beautiful.

The blood was art.

The blood was a Monet.

Except it wasn't.

It was blood.

It was his blood.

It was from the wounds that he had helped create. The wounds that had already been there, but had been stretched. Had been expanded. Had been rubbed.

He had rubbed like crazy; trying to forget. Trying to pretend. Trying to clean.

But he didn't forget. He couldn't continue pretending.

He had been hurt.

He had been destroyed.

He had been violated.

The blood, almost water only now, was not a piece of art. He couldn't pretend that any longer. It wasn't beautiful, it was evil. It was sinful. It was pain.

The blood had been created as he had tried to clean, tried to get rid of the smell, the touch, the memory.

The memory still lingered.

The touch still ran, brutal and disgusting across his trembling skin.

And the smell…

The smell remained. Like he had known it would. Like it always would.

He would always feel dirty. He would always feel broken. He would always feel violated. He would always feel _them._

And he would always smell them.

Unless…

Chandler started to scrub again; scrubbing at the already raw wounds. It hurt, and he wished he was numb again.

It had been nice being numb. He longed to be numb.

Just as he longed to be clean.

He didn't have much of a chance of that happening, he knew. But he was going to keep trying. He wasn't one to give up. He wasn't one to fail.

He had to keep trying, even if it was a lost cause. He was going to keep bathing, for as long as it took; either to get clean, or for him to realise. For him to give up. For him to know.

He already knew.

He wasn't going to get clean. He had been telling him that since they had-

_You look like a good fuck…_

Chandler scrubbed harder.

He had been telling himself that all night. He wasn't going to get clean. But he was going to keep trying. He wasn't a quitter. He wasn't giving up. He wasn't failing.

He had quit, he had given up, he had failed. He had done that last night, and he wasn't going to do it again. He was never going to do it again; never going to be that weak again.

So he continued to scrub, attempting the impossible. Perhaps he would scrub until it stopped hurting. Perhaps he would scrub so much that he would become numb once more.

Perhaps then he would be able to stop scrubbing.

The blood ran down the drain once more, eerily beautiful to Chandler.

It was a Monet.

It was a Van Gough.

It was a Picasso.

It was all that, because Chandler could pretend.

Chandler had to pretend.

Chandler had to be numb again.


	4. Chapter 3

Hi ya'all! A quick update tonight, I'm very tired! That's also why this chapter is so short hehe. I promise more soon! Oh, and the phrase that I use in this chapter 'Stand, climb, and fall' I stole from a song, 'Stanley Climbfall' by Lifehouse, one of my fave bands! I thought it just seemed fitting! Thankyou for all the reviews and the support and please keep reading! Please Read and Review!

I do not own Friends/characters/actors...but I do own Fools Rush In!

* * *

The touch lingered.

Brutal, unloving, painful.

The fingers on his skin.

He could still feel them, even though they had left long before.

Long before.

That wasn't right.

It hadn't been that long.

Only last night.

It was strange; in a way, Chandler felt like it had been years since they had touched him. But at the same time, he felt like mere seconds had passed.

Neither of those two feelings was right. It hadn't been years, it hadn't been seconds.

It had been hours.

Fourteen hours.

Less then a day, but more then half a day.

Fourteen hours, and he could feel them, touching him with calloused fingers. Dirty, disgusting, repulsive fingers. Fingers he didn't want touching him. Fingers he didn't want to remember.

But fingers he couldn't forget.

Fourteen hours and the memory hadn't faded at all. The feel, the touch, the pain, the fear.

Nothing had faded.

Chandler knew that it would never fade.

That thought terrified him.

He would be scared for the rest of his life.

He would be disgusted for the rest of his life.

Nobody would be able to touch him for the rest of his life.

He wouldn't be able to cope if the memories stayed with him.

The touch, the pain.

The memory of their sickened him; terrified him, shattered him.

But their fingers against his skin hadn't been the worst thing.

_We can't wait to hear you scream_

The voice had affected him more then he could ever have thought.

Never again would someone be able to whisper in his ear.

Never again would someone be able to use that sickly sweet tone near him.

Not without him remembering.

Not without him shattering.

The voices stayed with him constantly; haunting him like a ghoul in a haunted mansion. The voices repeated over and over in his brain, becoming louder and louder each time.

With each whisper, an image joined.

The blood.

The faces.

The sick, twisted grins.

The look of ultimate pleasure; the result of the ultimate price.

Chandler's dignity.

Chandler's sanity.

Chandler's mentality.

Chandler's health.

Chandler's everything.

The look of ultimate pleasure on four different faces, caused by his ultimate pain. His ultimate fear.

The ultimate betrayal of mankind.

Chandler should have been used to mankind betraying him. It had happened so many times before.

Stand, climb and fall.

That had always been the case. That had always been his motto. That had always been his actions.

His entire life had revolved around those three words.

He had always been reliant on them, remembering them when the world handed him another bad hand.

Stand.

He would always stand up once more – hurt, but ready to try again.

Climb.

He would climb; a desperate attempt to leave his troubles behind. It would work. He would forget, and he would grow confident again.

Fall.

When he least expected it, he would fall. He had always fallen again.

It had always happened.

After last time-

_Kathy, and Nick and his giant man nipples_

- Chandler had stood once more. He had climbed. Ready to face the world. Ready to fight back. Ready to pretend he wasn't going to fall again. Although he knew he would.

He had expected it to happen. It had always happened. Parents divorcing, breaking up with Janice, every other time the world had screwed him over. He had always ended up falling again. He had expected it once more.

Yet, it still surprised him. It still shocked him, and this fall had been the worst yet.

Stand, climb and fall.

He had stood, he had climbed and he had fallen.

Like always.

Though this time, he couldn't move on. He couldn't stand and he definitely could not climb.

He was destined to keep falling.

Falling, without a barrier to protect him from the harsh wind that attacked him.

He was not numb; not anymore. He didn't have a protective shield to guard him from the pain. If he did stop falling, it was going to be a painful landing.

But he wasn't going to stop falling.

Stand, climb and fall.

He had lived by those words, remembering them when life seemed at his darkest. Letting the words remind him that it would get better. Letting those words sooth him.

The words didn't remind him anymore. They didn't sooth him. The words now failed and Chandler found he didn't have a motto anymore.

He was falling, and he didn't have a hope to cling to.

"Chandler!"

Chandler jerked out of his dark thoughts, instinctively cowering back against the chair. Trying to escape the predator that was now lurking above him.

_We might just come after you later…to finish the job_

"No!" he shrieked. They weren't going to take him. They weren't going to harm him. Not again. He had been weak last night; he was not going to be weak again.

Hands grabbed his arms and he screamed.

"Chandler! It's me! It's Rachel!"

The voice managed to be heard over Chandler's panicked screams. He heard the voice, and realised. After a few moments, he stopped screaming, he stopped panicking, he stopped cowering.

"Rach?" he said after a beat, opening his eyes-

_Beautiful eyes_

- and looking at her. Looking at her worried face. Her slightly terrified face. Her concerned face. Her clueless face. She didn't know. She would never know.

"Are you okay?" she asked quietly, releasing his arms. Chandler pulled away immediately, grimacing at the memory of her touch. It had been soft, unlike last night, but it had still reminded him.

Everything reminded him.

"Chandler?"

"I'm okay…I was just asleep. You startled me is all," he answered at her insistence. At her concern. Rachel's brow furrowed. "I'm a bit jumpy at the moment."

"I can see that," she muttered, sitting down on the arm of his chair. Chandler tensed at the close proximity, but did nothing. He couldn't do or say anything. His friends were not to know. They would never know. He couldn't give them any idea that they should know. "Are you okay?"

"I already told you I am," Chandler said, slightly irritated.

"I'm not talking about what happened just then…I'm talking about last night."

"Oh yeah, I'm okay." A lie, but she couldn't know. "I barely hurt anymore. It was nothing too major Rach. Like I said, people get mugged all the time."

"I know, but that doesn't make it any less of a big deal," Rachel said softly. Chandler frowned at her words. "You still got hurt. You still got robbed. You still got scared-"

"I know, I was there," Chandler muttered. Rachel nodded. "But I am okay Rach, really. I mean, I will be a bit jumpy for a while, sure. But I'm okay. I'm going to be okay." Chandler hated lying to her, but he had to. She couldn't know. If he lied, she wouldn't. Perhaps she would also leave soon. Chandler didn't enjoy her presence. He wanted her gone. He wanted her away from him; off the arm of his chair. He wanted her to go.

"Maybe we should-" Rachel began, but was interrupted.

"I'm not going to the hospital Rach." They would know. They would see. They would tell. Chandler couldn't let that happen.

Rachel let out a long breath, clearly frustrated by the situation. By his stubbornness.

"You aren't going to change your mind, are you?" she asked after a beat. Chandler shook his head.

"Bruises heal Rach." That was true, but Chandler knew his bruises wouldn't. The ones littered over his body would, but not the bruises that truly mattered. The ones on the inside. The ones that haunted him constantly. They would linger, just like the smell.

Just like the touch.

Just like the terror.

Just like the pain.

Them inside him.

Them violating him.

Them ruining him.

They wouldn't fade, not like the numbness he had once known.

They would stay with him, as long as he was falling.

"I know they do sweetie…but it's always good to have a check up." Rachel looked at him hopefully, then sighed when he shook his head once more. "Fine, you win. But I am going to be keeping an extremely close eye on you mister. Same goes for the rest of us."

Chandler inwardly groaned at her words. They couldn't watch him all the time. That would mean that they would have to be near him. Chandler couldn't handle them, not all at once. He was having a hard enough time with Rachel at that moment.

He knew it was Rachel; sweet, small, wonderful Rachel. No one was scared of Rachel. But Chandler was terrified. He didn't want to be, but he was. Her closeness was haunting him, reminding him, running him.

If sweet, small, wonderful Rachel had that effect on him, he hated to think what others would do to him. Joey and Ross. Any other man he came across. Girls as well. Large groups of people. Every and any body.

He was scared of them all.

"I have to go honey, I have a meeting to get to," Rachel told him after a long pause. She had been waiting for him to answer, but he hadn't. So she had continued. "I'll see you later, okay?"

"Okay," Chandler said softly, nearly crying with happiness. She was leaving. He was going to be alone again. He was going to be safe again.

"Okay then." Rachel stood, then stopped and looked at him for a long moment. Chandler didn't like her gaze, he didn't like being watched. Being looked at like he was an object and nothing more. Nothing more then-

_a good fuck_

Rachel smiled at him, unaware of his fear. She reached down and gripped his chin gently.

"Smile Chandler, you look weird without it," she informed him. Chandler's heart started to race at her touch, similar to a touch he had felt last night-

_Look at me…watch me do this to you_

He panicked, but didn't act. She couldn't know.

Chandler attempted a smile, hoping that it would help in her leaving. Rachel shrugged.

"Good enough I guess." She smirked at him. "You know, you are one of the few people I know whose eyes truly light up when they smile. That's probably why all the girls say you have beautiful eyes."

_Beautiful eyes…that's what we look for in a man_

Chandler froze.

"I'll see you later sweetie…take care of you." Rachel released his chin, then turned and walked away.

Chandler was unconsciously aware of the door shutting, but it was the least of his concerns.

The touch.

The smell.

Them inside him.

Them violating him.

Them ruining him.

They all hit him at once, Rachel's words reminding him again. He would never be able to escape it. There would be reminders everywhere.

The tears that had dried up long before came once more; harsh, agonising sobs that shook his body.

Stand, climb and fall.

He longed to stop falling.

He longed to stop hurting.

He longed to be numb.

But instead of receiving his longings, he cried.

Tears streamed from his eyes-

_Beautiful eyes_

_­_- and he cried.

He wasn't numb, he was falling.

Sobs wracked his body, and he longed for it to be over.

He longed to be numb.


	5. Chapter 4

Hi guys! I have to say sorry again for the lack of updates...There were demands for my other story as well, and Chandler was in the wardrobe counting to 10 and he was up to 6...whoops, wrong scene!...and i think i did it wrong too...ahem, anyway

To tell you the truth...this story is very emotionally draining, if ya get me! It is incredibly hard to get into the frame of mind to write it because it is such a horrible subject, and I am a very happy person so i really have to depress myself when it comes to this! With all my other depressing stories, I'm fine, but this one is crazy! But oh well, I love writing it! Thankyou for all your reviews, they make my day..they really do! I feel so loved yay!

This chapter...is like twice as long as it was meant to be...I dont know how that happened, but I;m glad it did! So, I hope you enjoy it and please read and review! I promise update soon!

I do not own Friends/Characters/actors, but i wouldnt mind playing hide and seek with both Matt and Chan!...the normal game, not the dirty kind hehe!

* * *

The tears lingered.

On the edge, not spilling over, but repeatedly threatening to.

Chandler didn't wipe at them.

Not anymore. He had tried to rid his eyes of them, but they always returned. He had given up trying. He had given up doing anything.

He hurt.

The pain was unbearable. Physically, it was bad. Bad, but he could bare it.

Mixed with emotionally, and Chandler felt like screaming. Chandler felt like breaking down. Chandler felt like wailing like a teething toddler, desperate for someone to make his pain go away.

There was no one who could do that though.

To even attempt it, they would have to know, and they couldn't know.

Chandler wasn't allowing that. Chandler couldn't let them know how he had failed. Chandler couldn't let them take his problem – his failure – onto their already weighed down shoulders. It wasn't their problem; they shouldn't have had to deal with it.

He had been the one to fail. He had been the one to break. He had been the one to fall.

Not them.

Never them.

They were strong.

They weren't weak. Not like he was. If they had been in Chandler's situation, things would have been different.

Joey wouldn't have let those four men near him.

Ross would have stopped them from touching him; violating them.

The girls…

Chandler wasn't sure what the girls would have done. Phoebe would have been able to fight back, he knew that with certainty. She had been in the situation before and had come out on top.

Monica and Rachel though…

To Chandler, they were a mystery. He knew them better then he thought possible, but he was clueless when it came to this question.

Would they have fought back? Would they have escaped?

Chandler didn't know, but he did know that if they hadn't fought back; if they had been touched, violated, destroyed, it would have been acceptable. Not to their loved ones, and definitely not to Chandler. He was not one to fight, but if anybody touched any of the girls, he would gladly kill that person without a second thought.

It wouldn't be acceptable to their loved ones, but it would be acceptable to society. There were so many help lines and services out there, dealing with this situation…but mostly, if not all for women. Nothing about men. Men were meant to be able to protect themselves, while women were thought of as the weaker sex.

Chandler had always thought of that as ridiculous. It was a stereotype and men were just as vulnerable as women. If he hadn't believed that before, he did now. After last night, although he had been weak and failed, he had proven to himself just why he had thought of men and women as equals.

But he had failed. He was different to those other men, who didn't have a chance. He could have fought back. Just like the other men, he had been attacked, that was true. He had had a chance to fight back, unlike other men. Other men had been attacked, had been violated, had been r-

He couldn't even say the word. To say the word would mean it was true.

Chandler was still clinging to the tiny, false hope that it wasn't true. That he hadn't been weak. That he hadn't failed. That he hadn't become different to other men. That he hadn't been attacked, that he hadn't been violated, that he hadn't been r-

"Hey man."

Chandler started violently, shrinking back into the couch. He didn't scream this time; the fear was too great to scream. Before, when it had been Rachel, he had known on some level that it was her, not them. His attackers hadn't had the high, girly voice. That, on some level, had given Rachel away. Had told him that he shouldn't be scared. He still had been, but not enough to silence him with fear.

This voice wasn't high. This voice wasn't girly. This voice wasn't Rachel. It was male, it was deeper, and it was Joey. Chandler knew it was Joey, the small part of his brain that was still logical told him that. He knew, in some way, that it was Joey but he was still paralysed with fear. He was still squeezing his tear-filled eyes slightly shut. He was still beginning to hyperventilate.

"Chandler?"

The voice. So familiar. So worried. So Joey. He knew that voice. He had never been scared of that voice. He could never be scared of that voice.

But he was.

"Chandler!"

Chandler couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't talk. He couldn't do anything except panic and struggle for breath.

It was Joey. He shouldn't be scared of Joey. Joey was smaller then him. Joey was his friend. Joey would never hurt him. Definitely not in that way.

But his brain wasn't logical. It wasn't thinking that way. Joey was a threat. Everything was a threat.

"Chandler!" Hands grabbed his arms, tightly squeezing his aching limbs. It wasn't Joey, it couldn't have been Joey. His mind had been tricking him. Chandler let out a shuddered gasp, his best attempt at screaming. His best attempt at fighting back.

_I've been waiting all night for this_

He was failing once more. He was failing and he was falling; harder and harder with each second that passed.

The tears that had lingered spilled over, hot, salty trails down his cheeks. There was the voice - loud, panicked, male. Chandler couldn't make out the words anymore; they passed through him like wind through a canal.

The touch lingered.

Rough, yet strangely gentle at the same time. It confused Chandler how those two could intermingle with one another, but they did.

It had been rough last night; rough, unloving and painful-

_We can't wait to hear you scream_

This was rough, but it wasn't unloving. Chandler couldn't figure that out. Chandler couldn't comprehend. Chandler couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. He couldn't scream. The pain shot through his body, but his mind was numb.

The canal closed up as quickly as it had opened, keeping the words bottled up in between and Chandler could understand the words once more.

"-God, Chan! Deep breaths damnit! Chandler, open your eyes…look at me!"

_Look at me…_

The voice was so panicked, but Chandler didn't care. He didn't comprehend that it was a helpful voice. It was a sickly-sweet voice in his ear, one that should only guarantee good things, but had promised him nothing but pain, terror, touch, smell.

It had promised him so much, and had followed through on all of those things; resulting in him frozen with fear at that moment, his only movement caused by the panicked breathing and harsh shakes from the hands touching him.

Hands that were now leaving his arms. Chandler would have starting crying with happiness from the loss of the touch, but he was already crying.

As quick as they left, they returned; gripping his chin painfully and jerking his head up. The touch may have been gentle enough, but to Chandler it was sheer torture.

"Chandler, open your eyes! Look at me-

_watch me do this to you_

"No!"

As quickly as Chandler had lost his ability to speak and move, he regained it. The words had been like a lightening bolt, striking through his terror and numbness.

He hadn't fought back last night. He had failed last night, but he had promised himself that he would not fail again.

The scream was torn from his throat, louder then he had even spoken. It had been shrill, so unlike his normal voice that Chandler had barely recognised that he had spoken. The only thing that had given it away was the fact that he felt the word leave his throat.

He lashed out, desperate to protect himself. Desperate to stop them from touching him, from hurting him, from violating him. It had happened once before; it was not going to happen again.

Fists connected with hard flesh and bone and the hands that had touched him disappeared. There was a loud thud and Chandler leapt to his feet, his eyes flying open to nothing but blur.

The tears lingered and this time Chandler wiped at them. He had to see. He couldn't escape if he couldn't see.

Chandler didn't look behind him; didn't look to where he knew they were. Instead, he fled the room and entered another. He didn't care what room he was in, he only cared that he was in a different room to them.

Foolishly he had run into his room. His numb yet panicked brain had calmed slightly, telling him that it had been a stupid idea. He was four stories up; he couldn't escape through this room. He had a better chance of going out the front door, but it was too late for that now.

He was trapped.

He was cornered.

He was in big trouble.

Chandler glanced hurriedly at the chair; the chair that he had used last night.

He dismissed it quickly. It had been a ridiculous idea. One chair keeping out four men? The chair would buckle easily under their pressure. He should have figured that last night. But last night he hadn't been thinking.

Footsteps. In the other room. Not enough for all four of them though. There were only footsteps from one person. The other three must have been waiting.

One was more then enough though. One was enough to hurt him, to take him, to violate him. He was as scared of one as he was of four.

And he was trapped.

Chandler pressed his back against the far wall, then slowly slid down to the floor. He had failed. They were going to touch him, feel him, enjoy him once more.

They had already shattered him once and now they were back to do it again. Back like they had promised.

_We might just come after you later…to finish the job_

Chandler squeezed his eyes shut, then pressed his trembling hands against his ears, desperate to stop the voice that was haunting him. Desperate to drown out the footsteps that he knew were coming to degrade him.

He had failed. They were going to hurt him again, and he had failed.

Stand, climb and fall.

There was no chance of that happening now.

He would never be able to stand or climb, not after this. He was resigned to keep falling. He was resigned to the painful landing that would soon come. The landing that he would face without a barrier; without his numbness to protect him.

They were going to hurt him; he was certain of it. Nothing good would come of this; it would ruin him.

But he was powerless to stop it.

His only wish was that it would cause him to become numb once more. Make him stop feeling the pain, the humiliation, the touch.

The violation.

The smell.

The pain.

The blood.

The everything.

He wished to be numb, and if there was one good thing that came out of this horrible mess, it was that his wish may be granted.

He may become numb forever.

The thought of that happening calmed him, but only slightly. As much as he wanted to be numb again, he didn't want to go through this again. He didn't want to even _think _of it happening.

But it was going to.

And even though he wanted to be numb, he couldn't open his eyes. He couldn't face disgusting person, who was now crouching in front of him. He couldn't look him in the eye, knowing that the monster had ruined his life.

So he kept his eyes tightly shut, with his hands pressed against his ears still.

Why had he inherited his mother's eyes? Why did they have to be so blue? Why couldn't he have stayed in the shower, watching the Picasso that swirled down the drain, redder then Santa's outfit? Why hadn't he let Rachel help him?

Why couldn't he have stayed standing? Why was he instead falling, and about to come crashing down to the ground?

Why couldn't he be numb?

"Chandler."

The voice was soft, sickly sweet in his covered ear. Chandler trembled, not opening his eyes. Not taking his hands off his ears, although they did nothing to block out sounds, as it seemed. How did they know his name? How could they have known?

Probably the same way they knew where he lived, Chandler reasoned, slightly hysteric. He trembled again, a sudden sob coming from his lips.

"Chandler…Chandler, please…look at me."

_Look at me…watch me do this to you_

Chandler shook his head. He wasn't going to watch; not again. He couldn't watch their expressions, their blissful looks. He couldn't see that, knowing that they were in bliss because of his utmost sacrifice. Knowing that they had accomplished moments of pleasure; pleasure that they could have achieved elsewhere. Knowing that they had ruined a life – his life – forever, simply because they wanted a few moments of bliss.

He couldn't see that again.

So he kept his eyes shut.

"Chandler…I'm going to touch you now…okay?"

Why were they asking? They hadn't asked for permission last night, they had just taken everything, laughing at his expense. Why were they asking now? Chandler didn't know, and he figured that it didn't really matter. The monster was still going to touch him; dirty him once more with those rough, calloused fingers that sent chills down his spine; that terrified and sickened him.

A feather touch on his hand; barely there but still connecting. Still touching him. Still terrifying him. Chandler tried to protest, but couldn't get the words out. Instead, he let out a panicked moan, his body shuddering violently. He didn't want their fingers – their dirty, disgusting fingers – on him again.

But he couldn't do anything to stop that.

"I'm sorry."

The touch disappeared, and Chandler frowned. They were apologising? They were pulling away?

They must have been trying to trick him, Chandler reasoned.

But that didn't add up. The voice had been truly sorry…over something as small as a touch?

To Chandler, a touch was everything after last night. A touch was as bad as murder. But to others – to the monster who had been touching him – it was nothing. It was lint. It was unimportant.

The monster was truly sorry, and Chandler was unsure why.

The touch returned, as gentle and caring as before. Chandler still flinched, but he didn't moan this time. Confusion was still lingering.

The fingers gently grasped his own, and his hands were slowly pulled away from his ears. Chandler was frozen in terror. He was confused, yes, but he was still terrified.

"N-N…No," he managed to stammer out, shaking his head slightly. His eyes were still firmly shut.

"It's okay Chandler…you can open your eyes…I'm not going to hurt you." The voice was soft, confident but still sickly sweet.

Lies.

They were going to hurt him.

Of course they were going to hurt him. They had done it last night, they had promised it again. Why wouldn't they hurt him?

"….no…don't touch me…stay away."

Pathetic.

It sounded pathetic to his ears, and he waited for the laughter to begin. They had enjoyed his pain; enjoyed his fear. They had enjoyed mocking him last night, and he expected them to enjoy it again.

No laughter came and Chandler felt a sliver of doubt shoot through him. Maybe they weren't going to hurt him? Maybe it wasn't even-

"Chandler…I'm not going to hurt you…I would never hurt you, you know that…I'm your best friend buddy. J-Man and Channy, remember?"

The words cut through Chandler like a knife in a horror movie and his eyes flew open.

Close.

Too close.

Joey was right in his face, terrifyingly close.

He shrunk back once more, staring at Joey in shock.

They hadn't been here.

He had known that.

Deep in his mind, he had known that.

He had known that it was Joey, and still his mind had tricked him. Making him believe that he was in trouble. That he was going to be touched once more. That he was going to be violated once more. That he was going to be hurt once more.

He still could be though.

Joey had promised that he would never hurt Chandler, but he was a male.

Chandler had been hurt by males last night, he couldn't trust them.

He couldn't trust anybody.

"It's okay, Chandler. You had a freak-out or something…a…a panic attack." Joey stumbled over his words, unsure if it was the right phrasing. "It's okay…you're okay now."

"Get away from me," Chandler whispered, pressing his back harder against the wall.

He had seen Joey make a lot of faces over the years; happiness, sadness, anger, surprise, terror…he had seen it all. Some real, other's fake. Other's put on badly for a play or a TV show.

Joey had made a lot of faces over the years. But Chandler had never once seen the face that he was making at that moment.

Chandler suspected that it was the same face that he had been making since last night. The shattered, lost, hurt look.

Joey look broken, devastated, torn. And Chandler had caused that, with four little words.

But he didn't care.

Joey was out to hurt him. Joey was a threat. Joey had to leave.

Chandler slowly edged up the wall, never once taking his eyes off of Joey's. He feared that if he did, his friend would attack. His friend would touch him, and Chandler would be broken once more.

He was on his feet now, slowly backing away from Joey. Slowly backing towards the bed.

"Chandler-"

"Get away!" Chandler insisted, once more pressing his back up against the wall as Joey started towards him, the broken look on his face still; looking at him with deep brown eyes, eyes that he had inherited from his mother. Just like Chandler had.

_Beautiful eyes…that's what we look for in a man_

The voice hit Chandler like a brick dropped from the Empire State Building and he found the floor suddenly rushing towards him.

He was falling. And it didn't surprise him one bit. He had been falling for this entire time; metaphorically, but still falling. And now he was falling literally, and it didn't surprise him at all. It seemed fitting really.

Arms grabbed him, stopping him from falling. Chandler wanted to yell, wanted to scream, wanted to cry. He wanted to get those hands off of him. He felt disgusted to have them on him. But he also felt something odd.

Hope.

He had been falling physically and he had been stopped. Something had broken his fall. He hoped for a second that someone could stop him from metaphorically falling. But that hope disappeared quickly. Everything disappeared quickly.

He was lowered gently onto the bed, and for a moment he felt numb. He bathed in it happily. But then that also left him, and he was empty.

Darkness lingered.


	6. Chapter 5

Hey guys! I am so sorry that this took so long, but I was so stuck and I had, like, well 4 other stories going on at once hehe! But I finally got unstuck...not much unstuck, but still pretty unstuck! This chapter is pretty short, but I didnt want anything too long. Please read and review, I love them! And I promise, promise, _promise, _that I will update soon!

I dont own friends/actors/characters, but I do own my little toy dog! It's name is Chandler and its the cutest!...not as cute as the real one, but then that would be impossible!

* * *

Darkness lingered.

But it was slowly disappearing.

He was slowly seeing colours, seeing shadows, seeing images.

He was slowly awakening, and he didn't want to.

Being awake meant nothing but sheer terror. Being awake meant memories and touches and smells.

Things he didn't want to remember.

But it was impossible to forget.

The memories were burnt into his mind, like someone had stamped them there. They were impossible to get rid of, impossible to forget.

Chandler's eyes fluttered slightly, trying to stay open. But he didn't want them to stay open. It was possible for him to pretend if they were shut. It was possible for him to attempt to forget. Seeing colours, shadows and images wouldn't help. They would only prove to remind him. But he couldn't keep his eyes shut forever.

"Hey sweetie."

Chandler surprised himself by not flinching. He hadn't realised that Rachel was there; hadn't realised that she was sitting next to him. On his bed. Looking down at him.

He was surprised that he didn't flinch, because she was in such close proximity.

But he didn't flinch.

Instead, he let his eyes open once more.

And this time, he kept them open.

"How are you feeling?" Rachel's voice was soft and filled with concern and Chandler found himself thankful that she hadn't used a sickly sweet voice. It would have reminded him of something that he was doing an adequate job of forgetting.

"Chandler?"

"I-I'm okay," Chandler whispered, staring down at his hands. They were shaking slightly and he quickly hid them underneath the covers. Rachel couldn't see them, she would realise that something was truly wrong.

"Are you sure? Joey said you have a panic attack." Chandler finally flinched, the mention of Joey's name making his blood run cold.

His friend had been close; too close. Closer then what Rachel was now. He had touched Chandler, and Chandler had panicked.

He didn't want Joey near him; not then, not ever.

"I was thinking about taking you to the hospital…but I knew that you would have been angry at me," Rachel continued when Chandler didn't speak. "Maybe I should have…I'm sure you would have forgiven me. Wouldn't you?"

Chandler shook his head.

"You wouldn't? Why not? It's only a hospital."

"I don't want to go there," Chandler muttered, playing with the covers. Rachel sighed, running her hands through her blond hair.

"Chandler-"

"I don't want to go there."

"I realise that sweetie, but you should really get checked out," she reached forward and touched his cheek gently; touched the place where Chandler knew he was bruised. He flinched away from her touch and she sighed again. "These bruises are pretty bad Chandler. And you just had a panic attack. And…"

"And what?" Chandler's voice was harsher then he had intended, but he didn't care. He wanted her out. He wanted to be alone.

"Joey said that you….never mind." Rachel shook her head, smiling down at him.

"What did he say?" Chandler asked, scowling slightly.

"That you…you seemed scared of him. I told him that was impossible; he's your best friend. You couldn't be scared of him…Chandler?"

"Where is he?" Chandler's voice was small, not angry anymore.

"He's across the hall. He thought that it be best if I talked to you."

"He's staying there?"

"Well…for now."

"I want him to stay over there…I don't want to see him." Rachel frowned at Chandler's words.

"Chandler…why don't you want to see him? You aren't really…_are _you scared of him?" when Chandler said nothing, Rachel continued. "Or are you embarrassed? Is that it? Chandler, this could have happened to anyone! You said it yourself, people get mugged all the time, and you are no different. There is no reason to be embarrassed, especially not around Joey. He loves you-"

"Stop." Chandler closed his eyes briefly, swallowing heavily.

_He loves you_

He didn't like that. He didn't want anybody loving him. Not Rachel, not Monica, not Joey. To him, love didn't mean good things. Not anymore.

To him, love meant pain, sorrow and humiliation.

"Chandler-"

"I'm fine Rach…just leave me alone." Chandler rolled over, turning his back to Rachel. He heard her sigh.

"Keep this up Chandler, and I'm not going to care that you wouldn't forgive me. I'll take you to the hospital."

"No you won't," Chandler whispered, shaking his head slightly. He felt Rachel's weight leave the bed and suddenly she was in his face. He let out a small cry, backing away slightly.

"It's okay Chandler…I'm not going to hurt you." Rachel's face was full of compassion and Chandler relented.

"You just startled me, is all."

"Is that all?" Chandler didn't answer, instead choosing to close his eyes. "What exactly happened last night Chandler?"

"I got mugged," Chandler snapped.

"Is that all?" Chandler's eyes flew open at her words and he saw the suspicion on her face. She suspected something. He couldn't allow that. They weren't supposed to know. They weren't allowed to know.

"No, I got beaten up too," he said harshly. Rachel took in a deep breath.

"Anything else?"

"Yeah, I got pestered by my friend, who insisted on asking annoying questions." Rachel rolled her eyes and stood up.

"Fine, forget I asked," she muttered, heading for the door. "You can hurt me by snapping at me Chandler. I don't care, it doesn't matter to me. But don't you dare do that to Joey. He's your best friend and he needs you."

"I don't care."

Chandler knew that Rachel was angry at him; he could practically feel the tension in the air. But he didn't care. If they were angry at him, then they would leave him alone. Then they wouldn't be able to touch him, hurt him, shatter him.

They wouldn't be able to ruin him, and they wouldn't be able to find out.

"You should Chandler."

The door closed and Chandler rolled over. He stared at the closed door, breathing a small sigh of relief. She was gone. Joey was gone. He could attempt to relax now.

But that wasn't going to happen.

He couldn't relax now; he could never relax.

They would be back. Not just his friends, but the monsters that had done this to him.

_We might just come after you later…to finish the job_

The words echoed in his mind, a constant reminder of his pain. Of his terror.

They had promised they would return and Chandler had no doubt that they would.

He needed help; he needed protection.

But he wasn't going to get any. Not because he wasn't able to, but because he didn't want any. The only people who could help him were his friends, and he couldn't tell them.

He needed help, but he wasn't getting any.

He needed a shower.

Their smell; their stink was still all over him, consuming him and suffocating him.

He needed a shower, but he knew it wouldn't help.

The smell would still remain.

Most of all, he needed to be numb.

He needed to be numb so he could forget.

The touch.

The smell.

Them inside him.

Them violating him.

Them ruining him.

He needed to be numb, but he wasn't going to be.

He couldn't stand.

He couldnt climb.

All he could do was fall.


	7. Chapter 6

Gorsh! I am really sorry that I havent updated, but I do have an excuse...I was stuck! Oh, and a little thing called finishing 'Last Night On Earth'...but that is done now, and so is this!...nearly, anyway hehe! I think that I only have 2 chapters left...2 or 3...probably 2 me thinks! There is only so much torture and mayhem I can put this poor guy through! And then I will be able to go and finish my other stories, knowing that I have completed one of the hardest things I have ever written (this story is sooo hard!) So yeah, on with the story! This chapter is short, and a bit slow, but I wanted a bit of time with Chandler's thoughts...again. There will be some action in the next chapter, trust me! I have it (slightly) figured out! So please, read and review, and no flames! Love you all!

I do not own Friends/characters/actors, but I do feel the need to tell you thatI would never picture Matty going through any of this...only Chandler...cause they are two different people...I think?

* * *

Terror lingered.

He was certain that it was far from over; certain that the pain would be repeated once more. The pain, the humiliation, the violation.

He was certain that it was not over. He knew that it was far from over.

Chandler rolled over, staring blankly at the clock. The numbers blurred slightly, then cleared once more.

Rachel had left hours ago.

She had been gone for a long time, but yet it seemed like only moments had passed.

The human mind was a fickle thing. It was odd, it was relentless and it was deceiving. Chandler wished more than anything that it wasn't relentless. That it would stop the images, the mental pictures that he was being attacked with.

Faces above him. Filled with pleasure. Filled with laughter. Filled with sick desire. Filled with-

Chandler rolled back over, tears burning in his eyes. He blinked them away, pulling the covers tighter around him. His hands shook, and it didn't surprise him one bit.

He was sure that he had been shaking non stop since-

What was he calling it now? The attack? The violation? The turning point in his life? The destruction of his life?

He wasn't sure, but he knew what he _couldn't _call it.

That word; that tiny word, starting with r. How one word struck so much fear and pain into his heart, Chandler would never know. But it did. And he knew that he would never be able to speak that word; not in reference to him anyway. He had used it last night, and it had broken him. It had pained him to say that tiny little word, but it hadn't been in reference to him.

It could never be in reference to him.

The human mind was a fickle thing. It could create so much happiness, yet at the same time so much pain. It could also create denial.

Chandler liked denial. It was a nice word; flowed nicely off of the tongue. He liked saying it, and he liked falling victim to it.

It a way, he had accepted what had happened to him; he knew it had happened, he knew that it had broken him. He was able to believe it. But he also knew he was still in denial. Unable to say a tiny little word because he wasn't willing to take that last step. The step that would cause it to be completely true. The step that would cause the denial to disappear; disappear and let the pain engulf him entirely.

The denial disappearing would be a horrible thing. It would make it all worse, not better. Chandler was already shattered and broken as much as he believed possible, but the loss of his denial would worsen it ten fold. That was something that Chandler was sure he couldn't live with.

He could smell them on him. It lingered, like an overbearing mother. Chandler didn't have the strength to do something about it. He knew that it was fruitless anyway. Why bother trying to get rid of something that was insistent on staying?

He stared blankly at the wall, wishing that he could somehow block his nose. Wishing that he could somehow drill out his eyes. Wishing that he could lose his skin, just so that he could never feel touch again.

He could still feel their touch, but he knew that he couldn't do anything about that either. He couldn't even pretend that it was a loving touch, because his brain knew it was not true. He couldn't even be numb, because that had been taken away from him as well.

The human mind was a fickle thing. It created love, it created anger, it created every feeling under the sun. But it would not create the one thing that Chandler longed for; the one thing that he needed more than anything at that moment.

He needed to be numb.

Chandler hated his brain; hated everything that it entailed. It was causing him so much pain, and it would not do the one thing that was so easy. The one thing that he desired. Instead, it chose to taunt him with voices.

_You look like a good fuck…if you're lucky, maybe afterwards we will let you live_

_Beautiful eyes…that's what we look for in a man_

Chandler didn't close his eyes – his apparent beautiful eyes. He was past that. He knew that it wouldn't help. That wouldn't stop them from being so blue. That wouldn't turn back time and stop the monsters coming near him. That wouldn't stop the voices in his ear, nor would it stop the memory of touch. The memory of a hand on his naked thigh; a hand slowly – painfully slow – running upwards, the touch rough and taunting. That wouldn't stop the hand from-

Chandler squeezed his eyes shut. He had thought he was past that but, apparently he wasn't. Just like he had thought, his eyes being closed didn't turn back time. It didn't stop the voices in his ear – sickly sweet, yet terrifying. It didn't stop the memory of the touch; touching him places that rough hands were not meant to touch.

He wanted it all to stop. He wanted everything to stop. The pain, the fear, the touch, the smell. Everything.

But he had no idea how to do that.

The human mind was a fickle thing. It wouldn't stop his pain; it wouldn't stop anything. Yet it would sit there and taunt him with ridiculous solutions. Things that he could not carry out; things that he did not want to carry out. Hospitals, help lines. Talking to his friends. His brain told him all of those things, and Chandler hated it for that.

It was being ridiculous. There was no way Chandler was going to do any of those things. The only way he would be moving through this was by himself; no friends, no family, no hospitals.

Chandler rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. He had to move through this on his lonesome, but he knew how that would go. He wouldn't move forward, he would move backwards.

No.

Not backwards.

Down.

He would continue falling.

He wanted to stand, he wanted to climb, he wanted to be numb. He wanted everything to disappear, but he didn't want any help.

It was times like these that Chandler turned to his brain for help. But he knew that would be a useless idea.

The human mind was a fickle thing. It made you picture things; made you see things that weren't there. It taunted you with false hope, making you believe things that weren't true. It was cruel, unkind, unloving.

It was similar to the world as Chandler now saw it. Cruel, unkind, unloving. A world that wasn't those things would never have put him through this. Only a cruel world would have made him feel so much pain. Only an unkind world would make the smell linger, reminders of the terror he had felt. Only an unloving world would have let him be violated like that.

Chandler hated the world. He hated the situation. He hated the pain, he hated the smell, he hated the everything.

And he hated the monsters that had done this to him. But in a way, he felt suddenly thankful towards them.

They had uncovered the truth. They had whisked away the fog, and exposed the world as it truly was. A horrible, dirty, cruel place. Chandler was glad that he had been given a chance to see it as many couldn't.

He knew the truth. He knew that the world was a horrible place.

The human mind was a fickle thing. It kept so much hidden; so many things under wraps, things that should have been showed. But at times, it stood up and uncovered the dust. It showed you things that you would never have seen without pain; without torture, without shattering.

It showed you all those things, yet it would not let you be numb. It would not stop remembering. It would not stop the falling. And most of all, it would not stop the pain.

Instead, it sat there, telling you things you didn't need to hear. Things that were not helpful to you. Things that were ridiculous.

Chandler rolled onto his side, staring at the clock once more. It had been an entire day since, but it felt like moments ago.

The terror still lingered.


	8. Chapter 7

Hi guys! This chap was written quick because...well, I was having so much trouble with it, that I just wanted to end it quickly! Hehe! It's short, and it may not be good, but I did do it quick, just remember that! The next - last - chap will be up soon, I hope! And I hope you all enjoy this chap...maybe! Please read and review!

I do not own friends/ characters/ actors...but I do own...uhh, an extensive mp3 collection? How is that linked to friends? I have the theme song!

* * *

Everything lingered.

All swirling together; undefinable from one another. The smell, the touch, the terror, the pain.

All swirling together; swirling like his blood down the drain. Like a Picasso. Like a Monet. Like a Van Gough. Except not beautiful. Far from beautiful.

But then, his blood had never been beautiful. He had merely pretended it was. Pretended, just like he was now.

Chandler scrubbed at his body furiously, desperate to rid himself of the smell. Desperate to rid himself of everything. But still, it lingered.

And still, he couldn't define it anymore.

He had survived another night; survived the terror that came with the darkness. Survived the terror that came with everything.

He hadn't slept; had watched the door instead. Yet again, he had feared for his life. His life and his sanity. They had promised they would return, and the wait was tearing him apart. More so then their violation had. He was already ruined, but the wait was breaking him even more.

In a way, he wished for them to return. Then he wouldn't be waiting. Then he wouldn't be wondering; anxious for their return. If they came to take him, he would know. He wouldn't be waiting anymore.

But he would be in the worst place imaginable.

In a place where he could be broken again. In a place where he would be forced to watch their sick smiles; see their faces contorted in pleasure, as if they were on a trip to Utopia itself.

Chandler would be their Utopia. Their heaven. Their pleasure. And they would be his pain.

Utopia.

That was a place that Chandler would never reach; a place that he would never visit. To visit such a place would be a gift from the powers that be, and Chandler doubted they would offer him such a gift. They would be too busy laughing at him; laughing at the fear they had caused him, laughing at the life he was now doomed to lead.

A life of agony.

A life of loneliness.

A life where he could not talk to his friends; could not tell them his dark secret.

He would never get to go to Utopia.

Instead, he was to stay here, watching his blood trail down the drain once more. The blood that had dried long ago, but was being created once more. Created by his insistency to be clean.

He didn't know why he bothered; he knew he would never be clean.

But still he tried; still he scrubbed. Still he cleansed. Still he created more blood; blood that he could watch and pretend it was beautiful.

He scrubbed until it started to sting, and then continued scrubbing. The pain was refreshing. He had caused it. Him. Not those four men.

At least he had some control over his spiralling life.

Chandler glanced up at the water; looking away from the blood. The water had gone cold. He closed his eyes, revelling in the feeling for a moment. It was a shock to the system and caused his skin to numb.

Numb.

He had longed for that.

But this wasn't what he wanted.

He wanted the real thing, not the substitute.

He opened his eyes, and stared dejectedly at his raw arms.

This wasn't working.

He still could smell them on him; feel them touching him, teasing him, humiliating him. It hadn't worked.

He had known that it wouldn't, but it still annoyed him.

Shutting off the water, Chandler stepped out the shower and mechanically grabbed his towel. He started to dry himself off, then caught his appearance in the mirror.

Bruises.

Littered across his face and body.

Their mark that they had left.

Eyes-

_Beautiful eyes_

- once so alive and dancing. Now they were dull and dead. Not beautiful anymore.

Scrapes.

Caused by them, continued by him.

He stared at the man in the mirror, feeling sick.

Pathetic.

He looked pathetic.

He was pathetic.

Chandler pulled himself away from the mirror, tears welling in his eyes. He finished drying then got dressed, still on autopilot. Glancing down at his arms, he realised that his short sleeves wouldn't cover the raw scrapes. Not that it mattered.

He didn't have to hide them; not at the moment.

There was nobody to hide them from. Joey wasn't home.

Chandler hoped Joey would never be home. He couldn't live like that; couldn't live like this. Not with the fear. Not with the pain.

Rachel could return. Or Monica. Or anyone.

He would change in his room. Seven steps at the most. No one would catch him; catch his bleeding arms.

Chandler opened the door, glancing anxiously into the room. There was no one. No friends, no monsters. No angels, down from heaven to save him from his plight. No one to help bring him to his Utopia. He took three painful steps forward, breath coming out in short gasps. Four more steps. Just four more until he was relatively safe. Safe as he could be at that moment. Three. He bit his lip, staring at his closed door. That was his Utopia. As close as he would get, anyway. Two. He held his breath. One.

His shaking hand grasped the doorknob and turned. He pushed open the door and stepped inside.

"There you are." Chandler let out a cry, his knees turning to jelly. For a second, he saw the monster. He saw something that wasn't there. A concoction of his fickle mind; making him see things that weren't there. It wasn't the monster. But it was still hell. "Chan?"

"J-Joey…you scared me," Chandler stammered, taking a step back into the living room. Joey walked forward, smiling grimly.

"Sorry…I was just waiting for you…waiting to see if you wanted to talk or something?" Chandler nodded, taking another step back. Then another. He kept going until his back was pressed up against a wall.

"Talk…sure. What do you want to talk about?" he whispered, his breath coming out in short pants once more. Joey cocked his head, staring at Chandler's face. His gaze slowly moved down his shaking body and Chandler trembled. The monster had studied his body too; looked at him approvingly.

"W-What happened to your arms?" Joey hissed, his eyes widening. Chandler glanced down at his bleeding arms.

"…from…from the mugging…they did a number on me you know?" he laughed lightly, pressing his back harder against the wall as Joey approached once more.

"But…but that was two nights ago, and they are bleeding."

"I must have…aggravated them, or something…don't you have an audition to go to or something?" Chandler almost pleaded, sounding as pathetic as he looked. Joey shook his head.

"I'm not going…wanted to talk to you," he murmured, stepping closer still. He was so close now; too close. Almost close enough to touch him. Chandler sidestepped away, glancing behind him; glancing to the front door. How he wished he was out there now. Away from Joey; away from his threatening touch.

"Chandler?" Joey's voice was hurt, like yesterday, but Chandler didn't care.

"I-I have to go," he whispered, edging away. Joeys hand slammed against the wall next to his head, effectively cutting off Chandler's escape. He let out a terrified cry, staring at Joey. He knew it. Joey was male; Joey was no different to the monsters. Joey was going to shatter him. "P-Please Joe…I have to go."

"Chandler, what happened that night?" Joey pleaded suddenly, confusing Chandler. He didn't sound angry; lustful, teasing. He sounded concerned. A trick. "Why are you terrified of me?"

"I'm not terrified of you," Chandler insisted, glancing fearfully from Joey's face to his hand, so close to his own face. Too close. So close that Joey could grab him; stop him, hold him down. Touch him.

"Yes you are! Chandler, please!" Tears sprung to Joey's eyes and Chandler frowned at him. Still a trick. He couldn't fall for it. He had to get away; get away from his friend. Find his Utopia…which at the moment was anywhere but here. He had to get away.

"Leave me alone," Chandler cried suddenly, pushing Joey's arm away. He went to run, but Joey was quicker then he had anticipated. He wrapped his arm around Chandler's waist in desperation; not wanting to let his friend get away. "No! Don't touch me! Get off of me!"

Joey pulled Chandler's thrashing body in closer, holding him tightly as his friend continued to scream.

"No! Please, don't! Don't touch me!" Chandler lashed out, and Joey fell back, holding his eye. Chandler pressed his back against the wall once more, tears streaming from his eyes. "Don't ever touch me! _Nobody _touches me! Nobody! You sick bastard! Don't touch me!"

Joey's hand fell from his eye and he stared at Chandler; stared at his shattered best friend. "Oh god," he whispered. "Oh my god."

"No!" Chandler screamed as Joey started forward again. "No! I won't let you hurt me again!"

"I'm not going to hurt you Chandler." Joey reached out and touched his friends' shoulder, dismayed when Chandler lashed out again.

"Fuck you!" Joey winced as Chandler's hands beat into him. He grabbed Chandler's arms as gently as possible, trying not to hurt him. Chandler let out a chocked cry, his knees buckling.

"Chandler!" Joey grabbed his friend; stopping him from falling. He wrapped his arms around Chandler's shaking body.

"Don't touch me," Chandler pleaded, struggling still against Joey's hold. "Get off me! No!"

"It's okay Chan…I'm not going to hurt you," Joey whispered as Chandler continued to scream. "No one is going to hurt you."

"Fuck you! _Fuck you!" _Chandler sobbed, his knees buckling once more. Joey held him closer, then slowly lowered him to the floor; Chandler still struggling all the way. Joey listened as Chandler's screams and sobs turned into an agonising wail, and kept his hold tight; even through all the struggling.

After an eternity, Chandler went limp. His struggles stopped and he sagged into Joey's touch, his sobs becoming muffled in his friend's shoulder. Joey held him closer still, rubbing his back gently.

"It's okay Chandler…its going to be okay."


	9. Epilogue

And I adore this chapter...not because I have a big head or anything, but I just really like it! Probably my fave ending that I have ever written! Probably cause I was able to fit in so many of thethings from the previous chapters (the paintings,stand, climb, fall, Utopia, etc)So, yeah, yet another story ended! I'm going good! Sniff...I love and hate ending stories...there is that wonderful sense of satisfaction, but there is also that sad feeling...but oh well! Just like to thank you all for your reviews, they helped me get through this hard, hard, HARD story! So thankyou...oh, and as to who Chandler ended up with...well, you can make up your own mind! Personally, I know who I would get together if I continued it, and Leondra, you would have gotten your wish hehe. But I wont be doing that...okay, why am I still talking! Please read and review, and thankyou so much! Love you all!

I do not own friends/ actors/characters, but I do own this story...and quite a few others, so back off! They're mine!

* * *

Hope lingered.

It was a wonderful feeling; the feeling of hope. The feeling of living, of not being terrified, of not being in pain. The feeling of hope had been with him for a while, and he was still dancing happily in it.

Three months.

It had been three months since that night.

Since those four men had hurt him.

Since those four men had touched him.

Since those four men had raped him.

He could say it now. It had taken a while, but he could say it. He had to; it was the only way for him to move on. To heal. To get past what had happened to him.

They had raped him, yes.

They had humiliated him, yes.

They had shattered him, yes.

But it wasn't the end of the world. He had learned to move on. It still hurt; he still had his bad days, but it _had _only been three months. He was entitled to a few bad days. It was something that would stick with him for the rest of his life, but it wasn't something that had to control him.

They were gone. They had enjoyed their night of pleasure, and they had left.

Left, making false promises.

Chandler had believed for a long time that those promises were real; that they would return.

As it turned out, counselling was a wonderful thing. Shrinks weren't as bad as he had been led to believe. They were there to help him; they were there to lead him forward. To bring him back to his feet. But the counselling wasn't the thing he had needed most.

He had resisted at first; struggled from their concern. He had believed that he didn't want them involved. But once Joey had found out, he had needed them more than anything. Once Joey had figured it out all by himself, things had changed, and they had changed for the better.

Joey.

He was slow on a lot of things, but not when it came to Chandler. He had figured it out by looking at Chandler's face; by listening to his terrified words. He had hugged him, and he hadn't let him go.

And he still hadn't let go; three months later, Joey was still there for him. Taking care of him. Protecting him.

Chandler didn't fear Joey anymore. He hadn't feared Joey since that day; two days after the rape. He hadn't feared Joey since his best friend had held him close and understood. Since his best friend hadn't hurt him, and had taken care of him. Joey had been there every time Chandler needed to cry; needed to scream, needed to throw things. Joey had taken all the abuse that Chandler could throw at him, and he still hadn't been swayed. None of his friends had. They had all been there for him.

Listening to him when he needed to talk. Taking him to the hospital that night; Rachel finally getting her wish, but not being happy about it. She could never have been happy about what had happened to him. They had comforted him when he had waited for the test results; had hugged him close when they came back negative.

AIDS.

It was an ugly word, and Chandler was thankful he didn't have it. But he had wondered for a while, and he had been terrified. But nothing had come of it.

They may have been monsters, but they hadn't had any diseases. Chandler was thankful towards them for that fact. He could move on. He could stand.

Stand, climb and fall.

He had loved that phrase, and once more believed it applied to him.

With his friend's support, he was able to stand again; he had found his feet. He was able to climb once more. He knew he would eventually fall again – he always did – but he would be able to stand once more.

The monsters had caused him so much pain, but they had done something wonderful for him.

He was a Picasso.

He was a Van Gough.

He was a Monet.

Not his blood; him. He was special, beautiful, just like he had always longed to be. It had taken so much pain, but he had finally realised. He had always been special, he just had never known. Those four men had caused so much pain, but they couldn't change that fact. He was art. Precious. One of a kind.

The human mind was a fickle thing. It lead you to believe all was lost, when in actuality, hope lurked just around the corner.

He had been at edge of his sanity, but hoped had lurked. Hope had come to him. And now he was happy; as happy as he could be. Soon, he would be happier. Soon, their touch, their smell, their violation would become a distant memory; it was already fading. It would never leave him, but it would disappear enough. He could live with it, without being numb.

He didn't long to be numb anymore; it was a horrible thing. He thrived in living; thrived in feeling. He thrived in climbing once more.

"You ready Chan?"

Chandler looked up at Joey, offering his friend a small smile. It was time to face the world again. Was he ready for that?

"Yeah Joe, I'm ready."

He joined his friends out in the hallway, offering them all a smile. Life goes on, and it was his choice whether he wanted it to be happy or miserable.

Chandler had never been one for misery. He enjoyed laughter. He enjoyed silliness. He enjoyed happiness. So he had chosen happiness. He had been led there by his friends.

They supported him now; Rachel with her fingers around his arm, Ross with his hand on the small of his back. Monica, giving him small hugs every now and then. Phoebe, squeezing his non existent biceps.

And Joey.

Joey didn't need to touch him. Chandler could see his support in his best friend's eyes. He could see it in all their eyes.

And it occurred to him, as the six of them walked down the stairs, that he had been so blind.

He had longed for his Utopia; longed to find it. But, he realised that he had already found it, so long ago.

With his friends; with their support, he had found his Utopia.

With his friends, he was happy.


End file.
